The Whittler's Wands
by Cheshirewocky
Summary: Dear Alice. I'm down in Brazil now, in my second intercontinental foray to find indigenous wand woods, and as I mentioned in the beginning, it's exciting stuff. There are so many people to see and things to learn that I'm worried I won't have enough time to get through everything! But don't worry; I'll spare you the details.


Chapter 01

The mark of true genius was a cluttered desk. Or clutter was a result of genius. The exact phrasing of the proverb eluded Oliver, but he was certain that it pardoned messiness on the grounds that it was inextricably linked to brilliance, and thus it gave him a ready excuse to avoid cleaning. There were very few shortcomings to this arrangement, but having to watch a puff of dust lift into the air and stir lazily in the slanting light from the window, he decided, was one of them. He wrinkled his nose and halfheartedly swiped a hand over the stack of journals and papers he'd dropped onto the floor. This only resulted in a larger cloud of dust, so he stopped.

Once the floor space around the desk had been sufficiently sacrificed to clear the space on top of it, he pulled his chair forward, sat down, and carefully unfolded his letter until it was flat. It didn't want to stay as such, of course, and various odds and ends found their way to the corners of the scroll to weigh it down, including his cellphone, a couple lava rocks, and his wand when nothing else could be readily reached. All distractions finally dealt with, Oliver folded his hands together, pressed his mouth against his knuckles, and proceeded to read the scroll with as somber a furrow in his brow as one could be capable of.

There was some remarkable dissonance between the seriousness of his enterprise and the…well, the rest of him. His short tufts of dark hair flying askew all over his head; the clean, well-maintained dress shirt and grey vest that nonetheless sat messily on his lithe frame; the studious focus of his attention amongst the veritable storm path of his office – indeed, his colleagues and would-be-colleagues often wondered whether he knew just how much of a genius he must be if all his proverbs turned out to be true.

For his part, Oliver had more important matters to think on. He clutched an edge of the scroll in his fingers and frowned as he continued down the letter. Finally, he sat back and stroked a hand over his bristly chin in thought. Deliberating on how he could correct the concerns addressed to him, his disquiet only deepened when he realized that it would require sorting through his journals.

He looked around himself as though for the first time, taking in the absolute disarray of dusty, faded journals and papers and texts and scrolls and cork boards and folders and quills and pens and pencils, crammed together around the edges of the desk, littering the floor and walls.

He sank in his seat and blinked owlishly. "Well, damn."

* * *

><p>Dear Alice,<p>

I can't believe that you even think you have to ask, and I believe even less that I haven't already told you everything. I take it as a testament to how distracted I've become with my studies – I don't think I've ever been so excited in my life! If I'm not careful, I'll run out of notebook space so fast that I'll have to resort to writing notes on the parchments meant for your letters, and then where will I be?

You shouldn't have to ask, because it's not even a question. I wouldn't be here. Not without you.

All the experiments I was able to perform and the results I have achieved since are thanks to your help. It's your research as well as mine. I'd be happy to provide the chicken scratch of all my data if you'd like to see it, but for the sake of getting around to the point, I'll start off by sharing my final conclusions, the brief summary of how all our discoveries turned out.

_**Pegasus (Winged Horse) Tail Hair**_

_When I first began conducting experiments with this wand core, I could not understand why Ollivander had rejected the pegasus tail hair (known better in Western Europe as the winged horse). I now believe that his decision was a matter of seeing the glass half-empty as opposed to half-full; these wands do generally lack the consistency of those with unicorn cores and the potency of those with dragon cores._

_I believe it is those precise qualities which give this core an advantage. More powerful than unicorn hair and more loyal than the dragon heartstring, it lies as a happy median between the two in all facets._

It just figures that your mentor would start you off on your first assignment with such brutes disguised as beauties. I know what you'd say, of course. They're not _really_ brutes; they just require a firm hand. I have to admit, seeing you out in the field, handling them so well, I can believe this is what you were meant to do. Even if they were only foals.

You should know I've taken that under advisement, by the by. Nearly all the contacts you gave me for the different ranches agreed that adults are exceedingly dangerous without being regulated to the delicate practice of hair-plucking. I finally came to an agreement with one who was willing to try with his foals, and his reports so far declare that they are adjusting nicely to having their tails meddled with, which is encouraging. He thinks that working so closely with them may even help them to better socialize with humans as they grow.

Before you ask, no, I never considered the wing feather. Not after that first time. A word to the wise: Never pluck a pegasus' feathers unless you wish to be trampled in thanks.

At least no one was hurt. Too badly.

_**Griffon Tail Hair**_

_There is no creature more deserving than the griffons of their title, King of Beasts, not for their undeniably remarkable power, but rather for their unprecedented capacity and willingness to forge alliances – even companionships – with wizards. Unlike the timid unicorn, the violent dragon, or the solitary phoenix, griffons possess a social awareness and emotional intelligence unparalleled in the world of magical beasts._

_Griffon cores are as picky about their owners and as hard-won as phoenix feathers, but once won, they are loyal and true to the point of ferocity. The wands made with them are not for the fickle, the self-doubting, or the self-deceiving, for they have the peculiar habit of holding back their magic when they sense strife and discord within their users. This can be a very difficult trait to live with and usually makes them a hard sell, but owners who manage to develop a deeper understanding and partnership with their wands have brought back tales only of great success._

_Note: I fear that pairing a Griffon feather with black walnut would create a wand with an impossible standard of self-awareness for its owner. I've created only a single instance of this pairing, though I doubt that it will ever choose a master. I would not know what to think about the person it does choose._

_Note_ (I only recently added this one)_: Curiosity has brought me back here. I've made a few instances of Griffon and Black Walnut paired with other wand woods, generally ones such as alder that have characteristics meant to temper the one or the other. I'm very interested to see whatever results may come of them._

Even in wandmaking, an area which seems to have infinite possibilities for permutation, not every idea is a good one. Some combinations are better than others. Naturally, I won't know unless I try, yeah? For instance, I tried combining acacia and dogwood. It was a most enlightening test, and the doctor has assured me that the rest of my eyebrow will grow back eventually.

Anyway, I know you've been particularly interested in this one. Griffons show more trust and forgiveness than pegasi when it comes to having their wing feathers plucked, but as such, their caretakers deemed it wisest to wait for their annual molting rather than abuse and lose that trust. Unfortunately, molted feathers don't have quite the same vitality as fresh tail hairs.

Can you imagine that someone had the gall to ask whether I would use a griffon's talons as wand cores? Apparently, they are historically fabled to be the most magically potent part of the creature. Can you imagine? I won't even declaw my cat! And anyways, I prefer having my head firmly attached to my shoulders, thank you very much! That incident inspired me to write up stricter contracts with the farms and preserves I do business with. I'm sure it will please you to know that I now receive proof of conditions and care from all my core suppliers before making my purchases.

Here are my final notes:

_**Kuei Tortoise (Mock Turtle) Tail Hair**_

_Several Asian cultures have regarded the unicorn, the dragon, and the phoenix as among the mightiest and most sacred creatures since ancient times. It would appear that their wizards learned the advantages of those wand cores long before Ollivander carried out his own studies. There is, furthermore, one more creature revered alongside the other three: the native kuei tortoise, known colloquially by my English counterparts as the mock turtle._

_In terms of power, tortoise cores produce magic that is stable and enduring at the cost of requiring patience and persistence to establish a bond with their owners. Of all cores, this is the only one known to predictably affect the physical characteristics of its wand, particularly as an exception to the rule of flexibility. The wood will consistently be on the more rigid side, regardless of temperament, and will be additionally imbued with a resilience to fracture and rot._

I'm sorry, Alice, but I refuse to transcribe the real name of this water-dragon-tortoise-whatever-it-really-is in any official capacity. My attempts at pronouncing it are a worse form of disrespect, I promise, and as you know, unpronounceable names make for bad marketing. Still, I think _kuei_ is a fair compromise compared to _mock turtle_.

I believe that the silly reputation given from such a silly designation, along with its natural rarity even in its native habitat, are what kept this creature from being seriously studied in Europe. I remember you once told me how the few brought over in earlier centuries did poorly in the climate and with the methods of captivity used. It was a virtual unknown, and for the most part it still is (another incentive to get creative with its name, yeah?).

Along that line of thought, though, aren't we the luckiest? The renewed interest in it back in its homeland is so recent that only our impeccable timing led us to research it at all. Maybe our combined karma is just that good.

You may have noticed my souvenir pendant tied to this letter. I want you to have it since you lost yours. Anyway, it shows the long, fanning tail beautifully, but the carving just doesn't quite capture the tiny dragon's head, or cat's claws, or the flames that rush down its legs from its shell when it feels threatened. Incidentally, my eyebrows did fully recover from that.

I hope you're not disappointed that there are only three cores here after we studied so many magical beings. The rest are still there, all over my notes and observations. These just happen to be the only three for which I've vetted consistency and strength.

I'm down in Brazil now, in my second intercontinental foray to find indigenous wand woods, and as I mentioned in the beginning, it's exciting stuff. There are so many people to see and things to learn that I'm worried I won't have time for it all! But don't worry; I'll spare you the details.

The family I'm staying with has been generous in aiding my quest. Truly, they are willing to sacrifice much for this noble cause. You should see what I've done to their guest room. I think they understand, though. Dimas was their cousin. You remember him, don't you? The first time I came to Brazil, he was the one who took the chance of bringing me into his workshop. He may not have taught me much about wandmaking directly, but I still learned, and I'd have no practical experience at all without him.

We all miss him. I suspect that's why my host family hasn't said anything concerning their guest room.

Tell me, are German winters as cold as Brazilian summers are hot? Take care, Alice, and whatever you do, don't pluck the wings!

Yours,

Oliver Carver Ashby


End file.
